


Living a Lie

by Ilweran



Category: Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Depression, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Padmé Amidala Lives, Past Relationship(s), Pregnancy, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 10:24:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2425241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilweran/pseuds/Ilweran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Padmé lives on in a galaxy where Anakin headed straight for Mustafar after the massacre of the Jedi Temple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living a Lie

She pays little attention to Palpatine's rousing speech and the frenzied clamor of her collagues. Numbness that started to spread when images of the burning Jedi Temple reached HoloNet has finally overcome her completely, and she cannot bring herself to feel anything but ditached surrender when her life's work is torn apart in front of her eyes. They have been walking down this path ever since she cast the vote against Valorum in this very hall. She supposes she should feel guilt or horror, maybe tinged with the defiance she showed that day, but nothing pierces the shield she has built around her heart. In a cool, purely intellectual way she is grateful – if it were not for that protection, she's not sure she could survive the loss of Anakin and the Republic both.

She is no stranger to shutting herself off. Queens of Naboo are as much symbols as they are political leaders, and during her first year in Coruscant she gained a reputation when she had the audacity to show more interest in her duties than in the complex web of social games of the Coruscanti elite. "Ice Queen," some called her, half in jest and half in mockery.

When she returns to her apartment, she doesn't ask Ellé whether she has received any messages through secure channels or if anyone has tried to visit. Regardless, her handmaiden informs her in a quiet voice that there is nothing to report. Padmé bears the sympathy on Ellé's face without flinching; she doesn't allow herself a flicker disappointment. She knew the moment she saw the Temple engulfed in fire and smoke.

Perhaps she has known ever since the first shot of this war was fired, even before she donned a white veil and took Anakin's hand by the lake, deceptively far away from Coruscant. Perhaps that was why she tied her life to his so rashly, unwisely and heedless of duty or sense – she was in love, and in some level she knew that their time together would be brief. She didn't want another Geonosis, another heartbreak born of regret.

She keeps her emotions at bay with efficiency that would have impressed Master Kenobi. (She wonders whether he yet lives or if he was shot in the back in Utapau; one more Jedi abandoned in an unmarked grave.) But when she lies in her too large bed that night, Anakin's child moves against her ribs. She cluthes at her abdomen and stares at the shifting lights and shadows beyond her window.

* * *

When she lies in a guest room in the Alderaan Royal Palace with Queen Breha's personal physician and Ellé for company while contractions keep her awake, she contemplates taking her life for the first time. She doesn't want – she _can't_ face a universe where her friend and mentor used her as a weapon against everything she held most dear, or where Anakin will never come back home to her, strong and beautiful and eyes alight with love. How can she keep her children safe when she couldn't keep their father alive or make sure they would be born into a free galaxy?

It would be simple. Her education as a Princess and a Queen included some preliminary medicine; she has a clear idea of what she should do. After her children are born, she will leave them at better hands before she can do any more damage.

She'll never be sure what stayed her hand that night. Perhaps it was the doctor's comfroting words and murmured encouragment. Perhaps it was Ellé sitting on the edge of her bed and holding her hand, more informal than she had ever been, or the worry etched on Bail and Obi-Wan's faces when they came to visit at the seventh hour of the labor. Or perhaps it was the cries of new life echoing from the room's marble walls, or the softness of _their_ son's forehead and daughter's cheek under her trembling fingers.

* * *

Obi-Wan is reasonably certain that the Sith can't read minds, but since Palpatine managed to trick his own people (their people) and the whole Republic for decades, Padmé is no longer sure about anything when it comes to him. Considering how close he and Anakin were, he must have suspected something, even if he wasn't aware of her pregnancy or the specifics of her and Anakin's relationship.

It breaks what remains of her heart, but it must be done. If she takes Luke and Leia to Coruscant or Naboo, Palpatine will put two and two together. He will never leave the children of the Chosen One be. She could of course escape to a remote Outer Rim planet with them, but she would doom them to a life of fear and flight. She could bear it, but her children (their strong, beautiful children) deserve better.

She holds and kisses Luke and Leia until the last possible moment, whispering to them of love and encouragment, although she knows well that no amount of tears or tenderness will imprint her to their young memories. All things considered it is better that they don't remember her, but it still hurts.

The familiar numbness has returned with vengeance when she watches Obi-Wan walk away with Luke in his arms, his shoulders bent by the loss of Anakin and the Order, and when she hands Leia to Breha, assuring the overjoyed but hesitant Queen that no child could have a better mother. Padmé Naberrie may be defeated and broken, but Senator Amidala will not fall apart.

* * *

She does as she adviced Bail and Mon. She supports Palpatine, citing their history and friendship to those who wonder, particularly to the few remaining members of the Delegation of Two Thousand. He ended the war, and that was all that they ever wanted, was it not? She reminds the press and the Senate that she has had reservations about the function of the Republic for fourteen years. She publicly denounces the traitorous Jedi Order, and when a journalist brings up her "well-documented friendship" with Anakin, she expresses regret that he gave up his future and potential for the sake of an ill-adviced uprising.

The fourteen-year-old Queen would never have compromised her values and public face like this, but a senator who has nothing left but duty knows better. She has always (all but once) been good at giving up her personal desires for the sake of what must be done.

This way she might be able to fix some of the old mistakes. Her life's work may have been for naught, she may be a widow who can't grieve, her children may be lost to her as surely as Anakin is, but at least she can do this. She tries to subtly block some of Palpatine's more outrageous policies while standing behind the less destructive ones, even though the line between the two is usually difficult and often impossible to discern. She sends Queen Apailana's office information about refugees and the advancement of the Jedi hunts, carefully covering her tracks to make sure that no-one starts to draw links between the Naboo government, the scattered ashes of the Order, and slight increase in off-world immigration into the planet.

Some might call it not enough to live for, and in the dark of her bedroom, Padmé sometimes thinks so herself. At midnight the increasing collection of different sleeping pills in the bathroom and the Mon Calamarian knife set in the kitchen tempt her to rise from bed with intensity that borders on physical compulsion, but she screws her eyes shut and thinks of the holoimage of Pooja and Ryoo on her desk, the padawans on their way to Naboo, the currently debated bill that could expand Palpatine's governors' powers over planetary treasuries.

It often helps. Sometimes it does not.

* * *

As if her work wasn't difficult enough, let alone her private life, some journalists and senators still whisper about her sudden preference of volumnous dresses. One rumor of miscarriage or stillbirth reaches her ears, but she reacts as she always does to inquiries that don't concern her work: no comment one way or another. Let Amidala remain an enigma.

In a way, such gossip is advantegous. If Palpatine suspected or realized she was pregnant, all the better if he thinks that Anakin's child is dead. Sometimes she thinks that it might as well be true, at least to her.

* * *

The colourful, cheerful parade that trails towards the Royal Palace is a gross perversion of the victory celebration over ten years ago, although Padmé hesitates to call it a victory anymore. She tries not to think about a long-dead girl-queen heady with hope and pride, or about a kindly Chancellor and a young padawan at her side.

Palpatine must have planned it that way. He has began his tour from Naboo allegebly because it is his home world, but Padmé wonders if it isn't meant to be another slap in the face of all who trusted him; a reminder that their hard-won battles have been mere stepping stones toward _his_ triumph. It certainly affects her so, although a life spent in politics has coached her to keep her impressions to herself. Her nails dig into the skin of her fisted hand, but her eyes betray nothing. She should be more careful with the hopeless anger digging its way into her heart, but on the other hand, Palpatine surely anticipated how she and the leaders of Naboo would react to his newest demonstration of power. If anything, he's probably just amused by her impotent indignation. 

In spite of her worries, she finds herself relieved that some emotions have started to return to her.

They stand at the steps of the Palace of Theed like they did so long ago, even if only four people of the original company are present. The memory of Anakin's smile forces her to bite her tongue, lest she turn to the Empeor and say something that cannot be taken back.

Sabé stands at her side in the official garments of the Governor. Padmé didn't notice that they had inched closer to each other, but when the parade reaches the steps, she feels Sabé's fingers brush at her hand, Sabé's warmth at her shoulder, and her heart lightens, if only for a moment. She can only hope that the presence of a friend has a similar effect on her former handmaiden. If she closed her eyes and only listened to the music blazing through the Royal Plaza, she might be able to imagine that they are children once more, a Queen and a handmaiden celebrating the free Naboo.

Queen Apailana and Boss Nass flank Palpatine, and their faces might as well be carved from stone. Padmé suspects her own impression reflects theirs. That creature Vader stands a few steps behind his master, towering over all of them in a way the latter must have again intended. Padmé haven't seen the Sith Lord move an inch or even turn his head since they settled on their places. At least his mechanical, inhumanly steady breathing is silenced by the noise and music that draw nearer. Behind him stretches a row of faceless Red Guards that eerily resemble the silent handmaidens that stand behind their Queen.

She turns quickly away from the two shadows that seem to darken the midday sun with their presence and tries to enjoy the music instead.

* * *

The palace fills with dignitaries and politicians from Nubian districts, as well as the Imperial court. Padmé lets her Politician's Face melt into a polite smile and exchanges a few painfully false pleasantaries with Mas Amedda, Governor Tarkin and other sycophants. When it comes to her exchanges with Apailana, Boss Nass and Commander Panaka, what isn't said tells far more than what is. They will meet later – conversations they actually need to have are better carried on outside the sight and hearing of the court.

She tries to avoid Palpatine as long as she can - she fears that the anger awoken at the parade will flare into rage if she has to spend one more second in his immediate presence. But she is a senator, and appearances must be maintained. She can't perform her duty otherwise (and if she can't do that, what else is left for her?).

At least he's easy to spot, surrounded by a sea of red as he is.

"Senator," the Emperor greets her with the same warm tone he used when she considerd him a friend. The effect is mostly ruined by his twisted features and eyes that no longer have anything human in them, if they ever truly did. "I trust you are enjoying our little fête?"

Padmé smiles and bows her head. She smothers the thought _This man killed Anakin as surely as if he had held a blaster himself_ before it can fully form. When she raises her eyes, she avoids glancing at the ever-present Vader.

"You honor us, Your Majesty," she says. Somewhere through the red fog in her head she recalls how to sound like a queen. "A very fitting choice, if I may say so. The anniversary of the invasion is in a few months, after all."

"Our people need to remember both past and present victories. These are trying times, but I have faith that we will prevail." Palpatine's mouth twists into a smile, and he puts his hand on Padmé's shoulder. "With Amidala at our side, how could we fail?"

Padmé hopes he'll think that the flush on her cheeks is a result of modesty. "I am glad that Your Majesty trusts me."

"We have had our... difficulties, but you have always been a friend to me, have you not? I will forever be in your debt for your aid." Palpatine removes his hand from her and leans on his walking stick. "The least I can do is to repay you in kind."

Padmé bows again and tries to make some flimsy excuses to disentangle herself, but when she takes the first steps away, Palpatine continues: "Forgive me, Senator, but I just now realized that you have never been formally introduced to my apprentice."

Padmé freezes on place, and her eyes are drawn to Vader. She has spent the last fifteen years reading people's body language, and while the last year has shaken her perception of her abilities, she could swear that she sees Vader tense. Since the Sith Lord seems just as thrilled to talk to her as she is to him, maybe Palpatine won't –

"I must have a few words with the Governor. Lord Vader, if you would keep Senator Amidala company for a moment?"

"You do not wish to have me at your side, my lord?" If it came from a face instead of a mask and with a less mechanical twinge, Padmé might consider Vader's voice pleasant to listen to, but now it only sends chills down her spine.

Palpatine waves his hand. "Your concern is touching, young one, but I am surrounded by bodyguards and loyal subjects. I think I shall manage a couple of minutes without your protection."

As Padmé watches him drift through the hall like a wraith with his crimson entourage, she can't help but feel sorry for Sabé. No doubt Palpatine will try to have a "discussion" about the share of powers between system and planetary governors. Then her own predicament draws her attention. When Vader doesn't move, only stares at her, his expression indiscrenable behind his mask, she forces herself to extend her hand to him.

"Lord Vader," she smiles. "Pleased to meet you."

"Senator Amidala." His artificial voice betrays no tone or emotion, but when he grasps her hand, he holds it a couple of seconds longer than necessary, then almost pushes it away. Padmé nearly shifts as her uneasiness reaches new heights.

Deciding to approach this like ripping off a bacta tape, she inquires lightly: "Have you been to Naboo before, my lord?"

"Never." The answer comes quicker than she expected. "But I have heard the Emperor speak highly of it... and its people."

"As His Majesty said, we are his loyal subjects." She wonders if his words contain a threat. The Emperor holds Naboo in great regard _now_ , but if Padmé, Apailana or the rest of its key figures misstep...

Vader looks at her from head to toe, appraising her, and Padmé is suddenly reminded of the rumors that claim he can kill without a lightsaber, although he certainly carries one with him. She is glad her heavy robes shield her somewhat from his discern. In order to quell suspicions, she has continued to wear them after returning from Alderaan despite the fact that they remind her of Luke and Leia.

"The Emperor has heard rumors that you have been unwell, Senator," he says suddenly, and Padmé is tempted to ask him to repeat that, for she must've misheard. Why would he care? "It is fortunate that they seem to be unfounded. His Majesty considers you a valuable ally."

Another threat? Or is he mockingly referencing her hidden pregnancy? "You can assure the Emperor that I have never been better. Nor do I have any intention of leaving the Senate."

Vader inclines his head in a slight nod. Padmé starts to tentatively glance around for an escape. Her heart is hammering; her throat feels like it's closing in. A year ago she would have been able to handle a dictator's right hand, but now she isn't sure how long she can play an aforementioned loyal subject. Her father, present in the capacity of the Education Minister, chats with a collague of his on the other side of the hall. She could go to him or Sabé – but no, Sabé and her wife are still talking with Palpatine, or rather listening to him.

From the corner of her eye, she sees Rabé – Assistant Minister of Internal Affairs for two years now – wave at her through the crowd. She mutters half-hearted apologies, bows her head again for good measure and almost runs away the second Vader bids her a stiff farewell.

She's not sure if it's a sign of her mind fraying further or if he used his powers to unnerve her, but she thinks she can sense the weight of his gaze on her for the whole reception.


End file.
